


Ends at the Beginnings

by zenonaa



Category: Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: F/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 09:24:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17784794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenonaa/pseuds/zenonaa
Summary: "Byakuya rereads the text a few times. His brows knit together. It’s a poem, obviously, but he has a hunch that there’s more to it than that. He scans the poem again, already previously aware of the rooster’s symbolism in Japanese mythology and the identity of Amaterasu.She is the Sun Goddess, most sacred of all Shinto deities.Another text pops up.Solving this poem will lead you to the next, Darling.So Touko has set him a challenge. Interesting. Byakuya considers the poem more deeply."For Valentine's Day, Fukawa leaves Togami several poems, each with a clue to the next one.





	Ends at the Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NOT_TOWA_WAKASA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NOT_TOWA_WAKASA/gifts).



> For the @danganevents blog on tumblr! It hosted a vday fic swap and funnily enough, it was a good friend of mine aha. I hope you like it!
> 
> The rating is only for some nudity at the end.

As Byakuya wakes up, certain facts begin to seep into his sleep-encrusted brain. He’s in bed, on his side, and he can’t see Touko in front of him. When he rolls onto his back, he realises that she isn’t behind him either and he frowns.

Still, he isn’t worried. Byakuya grabs his phone off the bedside table and clicks the button on the side. His phone wakes up from its sleep, and under the time - seven ante meridiem - is the date, the fourteenth of February, Valentine’s Day.

Usually, Byakuya wakes up before Touko, but no doubt that she has something in store for him today. Last year, she presented him with honmei choco, melted chocolate mixed with tofu and made to set in heart-shaped moulds. Back then, they hadn’t been dating, and a month later, they became a couple on White Day.

Byakuya swaps his pyjamas for a suit even though Touko booked them the day off and heads out of the room. He expects the smell of a cooked breakfast to waft over to him and indeed, his nose picks up something, and he ventures into the dining area.

Breakfast has been set. One serving. Touko is nowhere to be seen.

His lips draw tight. He approaches and seats himself at the table. There’s no steamed rice, or miso soup, no grilled salmon or another kind of fish, or sides associated with a Japanese breakfast, such as pickles or salad. Instead, on a crisp blue dish are three open sandwiches, with a blanket of sliced meat on each, topped with a tomato carved to resemble the shape of a cartoon heart. In addition to those, there is a potato pancake, scrambled eggs and sliced kielbasa.

This was one of the kinds of breakfasts that Byakuya would have when he lived with his mother. Minus the hearts, of course.

He checks his phone again, but Touko hasn’t texted him since yesterday when she asked him where he was so they could meet up as soon as work concluded. A small sigh wiggles free from between his lips and he puts down his phone, picks up his cutlery and starts his breakfast alone.

As soon as he finishes his meal, his phone chimes. Byakuya grabs it, assuming that Touko sent him a message. For a beat, when the screen flashes on, he realises it could be someone else, but it’s not. His first instinct had been correct. It’s her.

It’s Touko.

Her text exceeds the character limit that his phone previews, so he has to unlock it with his pin code. Then he can read the text in full.

 **High in a tree sits a rooster** **  
****A song spills from his beak like feed from mother to child** **  
****Grows the darkness around him, but it does not deter** **  
****And nearby, Amaterasu slumbers, but she awakens, beguiled** **  
****Keeping her footsteps light, she approaches the rooster’s crows** **  
****Until she does emerge** **  
****Rays of light bleed out from her and Amaterasu, aglow** **  
** **Ends at the beginnings, in both celebration and dirge**

Byakuya rereads the text a few times. His brows knit together. It’s a poem, obviously, but he has a hunch that there’s more to it than that. He scans the poem again, already previously aware of the rooster’s symbolism in Japanese mythology and the identity of Amaterasu.

She is the Sun Goddess, most sacred of all Shinto deities.

Another text pops up.

**Solving this poem will lead you to the next, Darling.**

So Touko has set him a challenge. Interesting. Byakuya considers the poem more deeply. Amaterasu was born from the left eye of a deity called Izanagi, and the royal family of Japan had descended from her. A misunderstanding between Amaterasu and her brother, though cleared up, led to a competition to prove who was the strongest, judged by who could produce the most gods. Though the brother produced the most, they were created from Amaterasu’s beads. Still, the brother celebrated his victory destructively, and with anger, she hid in a cave.

The poem doesn’t explicitly mention a place, but in the myth, Amaterasu had stowed away in a cave-grotto until enticed out by a rooster, a mirror and some laughter. That might imply to some that she wants Byakuya to investigate a cave, or a place with mirrors or somewhere he can obtain a rooster. Hope’s Peak does house chickens in the indoor garden.

Or... is that a misdirection? A trick, like how Amaterasu had been by her own beauty, like Byakuya being led astray by his knowledge of Japanese mythology. Byakuya returns to the final line of the poem. ‘Ends at the beginnings’.

His gaze flicks up, then down, and then he has it. The answer - the first letter in every line spells out a name, one that he knows.

He finds it quickly in his list of contacts on his phone and initiates a call. It connects.

“Hello?” says a voice through his phone, with minor background noise. Sounds like rustling. “Togami-chi?”

“Hagakure,” says Byakuya. He crosses one leg over the other and pushes up his glasses. “For Valentine’s Day, Touko has given me a puzzle in the form of a poem, and you seem to be the answer.”

“That’s right, Togami-chi!” Yasuhiro says brightly. “Wow, you were fast. I haven’t even started breakfast yet.”

Byakuya adjusts his hold on his phone slightly.

“She told me that solving this poem would lead me to ‘the next’,” Byakuya tells him. Yasuhiro gives a laugh.

“Right again, Togami-chi! I’ve got a poem for you.”

“Let me get a pen.” Byakuya uncrosses his legs and rises, but as he straightens, Yasuhiro speaks quickly.

“Ah, Togami-chi! You have to come here to get it.” Whatever Yasuhiro is doing while he’s talking, he stops it, and all Byakuya can hear is Yasuhiro’s voice. “It’s not something that can just be read out, ‘right? I have it on a piece of paper.”

Byakuya pauses, one hand resting on the table. The first poem required him to see it, and while he doubts that Touko would pull a similar trick again, he says, “Where are you? Are you in your apartment?”

“I’m at work! How else will I get chocolates from my co-workers?”

Of course. The one time when Yasuhiro has gone to work early... Hope’s Peak hasn’t even started back up yet, and the current occupants consist of their surviving classmates, Yasuhiro’s mother and Makoto’s sister, but Yasuhiro must want whatever giri choco he can get.

Because of course.

“I see,” states Byakuya. “I will be with you shortly.”

“See you l-”

Byakuya hangs up and marches straight to the door, faltering only to put his outdoor shoes on before he leaves.

The apartment block doesn’t lie far from the main building. He brandishes his phone, keeping at a brisk pace as he crosses from the south side of campus to the north side. By the time Byakuya enters the main building, he has obtained a more exact location from Yasuhiro, and he makes his way to the cafeteria where Yasuhiro should be preparing breakfast for himself.

A long table stretches across the red checkered flooring, and smaller, circular tables dot the rest of the room. Byakuya lingers at the long table, remembers how everyone used to gather there while him and Touko would position themselves at another table nearby, nearish. The more he remembers, the more people fade away, until he visualises only six people.

He averts his eyes and walks to a door on the other side of the cafeteria. This one leads to the kitchen, and as he stands in the doorway, he catches sight of Yasuhiro at the refrigerator. Yasuhiro has his back to him, so doesn’t see Byakuya, or even give any indication that he knows that he’s not alone, continuing to sift through the refrigerator for anything to presumably join the few food packages on one of the counters.

When they were being held at Hope’s Peak, the kitchen had been regularly refilled. Now, it boasts less, in terms of quantity and diversity. Far fewer crates of food reside next to the centre island, and meats don’t sit upon each other in the clear display case anymore. The rest of their stock is tucked away, whether it be in a cupboard or, for example, a refrigerator.

Byakuya folds his arms over his chest but Yasuhiro takes too long to acknowledge him. His eyes narrow.

“I’m here now,” says Byakuya.

Yasuhiro tenses, particularly in the shoulders, and stands up. He turns, grins and gives a friendly wave.

“Yo, Togami-chi!” he says, and he rounds the nearest corner of the centre island, bringing his full body into Byakuya’s vision.

“Where’s the poem?” asks Byakuya, straight to the point.

“Not even a hello?” Yasuhiro pouts, but Byakuya doesn’t tremor, just barely grimaces. Regardless of Byakuya’s cool demeanour, Yasuhiro fishes in his trouser pocket and pulls out a piece of lined paper. Byakuya takes it and unfolds it.

 **Where a mother exacted revenge after the demise of her daughter** **  
****Found drowned with a purse in a body of water** **  
****Where a son with his scissors killed the head of his household** **  
****And since then his eyes have been as dead and cold** **  
****Where six turned out to actually be five** **  
****For one of the six was still alive** **  
****Where a head rested on a mannequin, a body on a roof** **  
** **Third in the lake and the one left knows the truth**

Yasuhiro reads it over Byakuya’s shoulder. Once he finishes, at which point Byakuya has started a second read through, he straightens.

“Gruesome,” says Yasuhiro, pulling a face, yet the history of Hope’s Peak is stained in blood. At some point, everyone had become accustomed to it. One had to. “So... Fukawa-chi hid a clue in there?”

“Yes. It’s my next location,” replies Byakuya, and he returns his gaze to the piece of paper. Eight lines. Four incidents.

“But where could it be? Okay, confession time. I read the poem earlier, and I couldn’t figure it out. Like, does Fukawa-chi want you to go to a holiday resort? With a history of murders? Though, that does sound like your kind of thing... not hers though.”

Indeed, a passtime of Byakuya’s is researching cold cases, and he had even managed to solve several of them. Byakuya folds the piece of paper back up. Yasuhiro holds his chin in thought.

“I know the answer,” Byakuya announces calmly.

“So fast!” Yasuhiro hisses, hopping back onto one leg with his arms raised, as if shielding himself. “You know which holiday resort it is? Is it because of what I said? I accept cash and card for my help.”

Byakuya throws him an icy look.

“No, you fool.” He tucks the piece of paper into his shirt pocket and adjusts his glasses, staring forward. A dramatic gleam flashes across the lenses. “The poem references four novels. Therefore, where she must want me to go is the library.”

Yasuhiro raises a hand to his mouth, hiding most of it, but the ends of his smile peek out either side. “That’s clever! Huh? You going already, Togami-chi?”

While Yasuhiro was talking, Byakuya had turned away and started walking off, and by now, he has reached the door. Another poem awaits him, after all. Byakuya leaves Yasuhiro to make himself breakfast and a series of corridors and a stairwell brings Byakuya to the library.

The four books that Touko referenced all belonged to the mystery genre - one of his favourites - so Byakuya browses the shelves in that section of the library. He has been in libraries much bigger than this, and he has owned libraries much grander than this, with multiple floors and sliding ladders and better lighting, but the library here, though more compact, contains documents that Byakuya had never seen prior, so he gives credit there.

Its lesser size proves to be helpful in this instance, for it means that only two units home mystery novels, so Byakuya quickly locates the first novel alluded to in the poem and plucks it off the shelf.

A piece of paper falls from its pages, fluttering to his feet. Byakuya bends down, picks it up, and reads it.

 **In a room with keys that unlock no doors** **  
** **I speak without words**

Just two lines. There must be more to it than that. He pulls out the other three books mentioned in the last poem. As expected, each of them conceal a similar slip of paper within them, except they all have different text on them.

 **Sit opposite me and lay down your hands** **  
** **I am blind but I am all yours**

 **Settled neatly, lined with border** **  
** **Settled obediently, in wait of your commands**

 **Doves and ravens mingle, birds amongst birds** **  
** **All in order**

Byakuya slots the books back where he got them from, keeping the pieces of paper, and sets them out on a desk. As he does this, he notices that they all have writing on the back and investigates. The writing consists of various letters, no further than G, all capitals except a few lower case b’s, and they don’t seem to spell anything. Planning to come back to them later, he flips the pieces of paper back over so the snippets of the poem face up and he taps his chin.

Some of the last words rhyme with others. With some rearranging, he has it so that the lines that rhyme are next to each other, with the first line of the poem rhyming with the last line of the poem.

 **In a room with keys that unlock no doors** **  
** **I speak without words**

 **Pelicans and ravens mingle, birds amongst birds** **  
** **All in order**

 **Settled neatly, lined with border** **  
** **Settled obediently in wait of your commands**

 **Sit opposite me and lay down your hands** **  
** **I am blind but I am all yours**

The poem, seemingly, is not chronological - it could be in a different order and though the rhyming pattern would be eliminated, the contents of the poem would make just as much sense. Nevertheless, Byakuya is sure that this order serves some purpose, so he doesn’t change it and focuses on the contents now.

Keys that don’t unlock doors... could they be a different kind of key? And birds... pelicans... ravens... one is a large, white waterbird, and the other a smaller black bird...

Byakuya realises. Though the poem mentions birds, it isn’t really talking about birds. As for the rest, speaking without words, lined up in an order, he knows what they mean too, and he turns over the pieces of paper without disturbing their order. The various letters still don’t spell out anything, but he knows what they mean, and carefully stacking the pieces of paper, he takes them out of the room with him and hastens to his next destination.

He ascends the stairs again, winds through corridors then pushes open a door, and confronts the music room, large but barely furnished. Two groups of desks, tucked against opposite walls with a wide space between them, face a stage at the back of the room. A violin case leans against the stage, an instrument which Byakuya donated, and a piano sits on the stage. When the spotlights are turned on, they drench the room in pink hues, but right now, the room exists in a deep, untinted mahogany.

His eyes lock onto the piano and he strides over. He climbs up onto the stage, seats himself on the stool by the piano and places the slips of paper onto the rack, in order, but not with the poem facing toward him.

The seemingly random letters on the other side are, of course, not random. They are piano keys. Byakuya stretches his arms out in front of him, with his fingers laced, and then he retracts his hands and starts to play the piano, as dictated on the pieces of paper. It starts upbeat, and as music tinkles in the otherwise still room, he recognises the piece as the second movement in Piano Concerto No. 20, known as Romanze, and he ventures past what is written to see how much of it he remembers. He leaves pauses, imagining other instruments take up the silence before playing again, and as the song progresses from tender and romantic to a sudden, unruly passion, he imagines a hall, where he stands, alone, then with Touko, and they dance together, twirling, holding each other. Sometimes, the piano sings alone, sometimes it sings with an orchestra, and the piece returns to a gentle calm by the end.

When he finishes, the curtain on one side of the stage shifts, and he turns his head toward the movement, keeping his hands hovering over the piano keys.

Byakuya recognises the person who emerges.

“Komaru,” he greets in a lukewarm tone.

She trots further out with a smile, and he doesn’t ask how long she has been waiting there for him.

“I suppose you have a poem for me?” he asks instead.

“Yep!” Komaru says. Her shoulders bounce and another smile refreshes her features, less muted than its predecessor. “You played really well, Togami-san! The beginning sounded just like the bit that Touko-chan showed me. So you get this as your prize!”

He doesn’t reply. Not put off, she comes forward and presents him with a piece of paper.

 **A stranger stares back at me** **  
****Mocks every movement with the same** **  
****Looking longer makes no things clearer** **  
****Except that stranger with another name** **  
****Noise in my head gets under my skin** **  
****And the crawling in my skin makes noise in my head** **  
****Want to vomit, get out all that’s in** **  
****Then I think - why not change what contains me instead?** **  
****  
****So I do, and the noise in my head hushes** **  
****And my skin doesn’t crawl as bad** **  
****Over years, I meet red herrings and crushes** **  
****Then there’s someone unlike any I’ve ever had** **  
****In a book, I can become many things** **  
****And I can be myself, finally** **  
****As I search for the stranger, my heart sings** **  
** **For no more - now there’s just you and me**

Without a word, he folds the piece of paper in half twice and tucks it into his pocket, then he leaves the music room while Komaru cranes her neck and watches after him, hands behind her back.

Minutes later, Byakuya arrives alone at the apartment block, which stands silent against a pale sky, and he flits inside, footfall loud compared to silence. The door to his, their apartment clicks as he opens it. Once inside, he shuts the door behind him and takes off his shoes. He peeks into the living room, with its cream corner couch, minimally designed furniture, stuffed bookcase and the beginnings of his new collection of OOPArt. A figurine made thousands of years ago thought to be of an extraterrestrial astronaut, by the television. A globe, about the size of a softball, depicting a round earth, extremely old, on an end table. A skull carved from pure rock crystal centuries ago, on a shelf.

Byakuya can hear the rush of water elsewhere in the apartment, and he follows the noise to their bathroom. It hums, gargles behind a closed door, and he goes in. Incense burns with a sandalwood base blended with other floral scents. Rose? Lavender? Ylang-ylang? He glances at the mirror above the sink before turning away to survey the rest of the room. Hot water hisses from faucets into a tub still filling up, and bent over it is none other than his girlfriend.

She hears him enter and snaps her head up. “Darling!”

He nods, peering at her.

“Did you like the challenge I set you?” she asks, biting back a smile that wants to bloom.

“I did,” he says. “They weren’t overly hard, but I enjoyed them. It was interesting.”

The corners of Touko’s lips curl up. She straightens and perches on the edge of the tub, resting her feet on the floor, and takes off her glasses so she can rub condensation off them. Then she puts them back on.

“If I made them too hard, then I would be waiting all day for you to come back,” she tells him, wringing her hands. “I wanted to have enough time to run you a bath and get everything ready without you knowing.”

Byakuya fixes his glasses. “I understand, though I wouldn’t so readily claim that you could stump me for an entire day unless you set me something unreasonable. Perhaps, for my birthday, you can set me some more, and we shall see.”

Despite how seriously he speaks, he’s grinning.

“I was going to write more for today, but I only thought of the idea roughly two weeks ago,” she explains. Byakuya’s head twitches in acknowledgement, and she stands and turns to the bath. “It’s ready for you, Darling.”

He strips. Touko takes his clothes, folding them over and putting them aside. She turns the faucets off and Byakuya lowers himself into the bath. As he settles in its heat, Touko ignites some candles, dims the lights and once she has undressed, she climbs in with him, sitting opposite, facing him.

“Which poem did you like best?” she asks, and she places one of his feet on her lap.

Byakuya considers, relaxing as she massages him.

“Each were well-planned and unique,” he says. “To choose one... The poem that led me to the music room was clever, though someone not as intelligent as me may have kept Komaru waiting there for longer. Then there was the one referencing the novels, which though I figured it out quickly, I also thought was rather clever, and Hagakure’s poem has its charm. The last poem...”

Touko digs fingers into his sole, striking a spot that makes him pause.

“I liked it a lot,” he says. “It was about you, and us.”

His eyes almost shut completely.

“No, I cannot choose a favourite,” he tells her quietly.

After a while, Touko takes his foot off her. He registers this, if only barely, and raises his head, watching as she reaches out of the bath, toward a stool with a box of chocolates on top. Touko offers one to him, he opens his mouth, and she pops it in.

“It’s my honmei choco,” she murmurs as he chews it, gooey centre and all. She shuffles closer, kneeling between his legs, and feeds him another.

He smirks a bit and sets his hands on her hips. His eyes level with her breasts, small but sensitive, as he knows, but he looks past them, at her expression that mirrors his. Where the bath water hasn’t touched, her skin reminds him of a marble statue, but her eyes are bright and full of life.

“Tell me,” he says in an even tone, “is the chocolate the only thing I will be tasting?”

Byakuya slips a hand to her thigh.

“Whatever you want, Darling,” she says, but he feels her tremble, sees her tongue taste her lips, and he knows. They both want this. It’s tempting to grab her length and kiss its tip, right now, right this second, but he resists.

“After the bath,” he tells her. He pulls her onto his lap, feels her arousal press against him, and their lips lock together as they fold in to one another.


End file.
